When they arrived, the community center had already exploded. A mountain of tangerine flames roared so high Max could hardly see sky. Police were everywhere, screaming into walkie-talkies. Sirens blasted, firehoses spewed water, and crowds shoved and sobbed. Loved ones desperately clung to one another, to strangers, to anyone, pleading for help. Max stood on the sidewalk holding his mother’s hand, helplessly watching the deadly inferno as it seared itself into the core of who Max would become. Then his mom went into labor, right there outside the blazing building. Chloe was on the front page of the paper. miracle baby! But what came next wasn’t a miracle.

His mom healed, physically, from the emergency C-section, but the pills kept flowing. Max was too young to understand, but he noticed the alcohol. He raised Chloe during those early months, a ten-year-old warming bottles, changing diapers, and popping a pinkie finger into a shrieking mouth. Eventually, his grandparents came. Then the threats. Then the accident. And all of this because of a freak gas leak.

“Maxwell, I’m so sorry about your dad,” Vera’s voice cracked as she placed a palm on his shoulder—a classic move. It often came with thoughts and prayers. “I can’t imagine what you and your family have been through. I don’t know if you realize this”—she paused as if unsure whether to continue her train of thought—“but I met your mom once, in a way.”

Max’s eyes flung toward her.

“I started volunteering as a candy striper when I was thirteen.” She wore the oddly embarrassed look of an overachiever downplaying her accomplishments. Meanwhile, if anyone understood working at a young age, it was Max. “I was in the lobby the night your mom was brought in….”

Oh. Max grew rigid, his hands knotting in his lap. He should’ve realized.

Four years ago, on a sunny afternoon, his mother crashed her car on Main Street—it folded like an accordion against a telephone pole. Her blood-alcohol level mixed with the pills in her system was enough to render her a corpse, but somehow she survived. Her injuries were remarkably minor. But his grandparents hired lawyers. His mom left the hospital swearing she’d never touch another pill or another drop. She’d been sober for four years.

“You’re blaming her addiction? You don’t know anything about it,” Max spat through clenched teeth.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Vera reached out a hand. “I’m sorry. But substance abuse lasts a lifetime. It’s a disease, like cancer or diabetes—”

“She wasn’t drunk last night.” If he couldn’t make this girl understand, with her family history, then what hope did he have of convincing anyone else? “I remember what she looked like drunk and the things she’d say. She used to cry about my dad and feel sorry for herself. Now she’s speaking gibberish, incoherent gibberish. She’s spitting out phrases like, ‘Your mind will be resurrected’ and ‘Join me in the next life.’ ”

Vera jolted, eyes suddenly alert. “That’s what she said?”

Max nodded. He’d struck a nerve.